Author's Note: Thanks to Elia for the beta! This ficlet is set in the Pendragon universe, but is not necessarily Pendragon canon. It takes place during the same year as Galatea on October 31. The idea of the Pendragon having dragon tattoos on his/her wrists is borrowed from the book Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. The first quote is from the poem "Lady Lady" by Anne Spencer, and the second is from the play Godspell.
Lady, Lady, I saw your heart
And altered there in its darksome
place
Were the tongues of flame the ancients knew
When the Mórrígan summoned, no mortal in her right mind refused.
Ginny repeated these words to herself, muttering them under her breath as she struggled with the oars of the boat. Her school satchel from her Hogwarts years rested in the bottom; she'd tossed some clothes into it in the hurried minutes between the time she woke up from her latest vision of the Otherworld and her departure. Her sword rested beside the bag; she never went anywhere without it. Times were still too dangerous.
The oar hit the choppy, gray lake at an odd angle, and the water hurled it back. The wood struck Ginny's sternum, knocking the wind out of her, nearly throwing her out of the boat. She drew breath back into her lungs in a deep gasp of pain, then gave the lake a disgusted glare. She had to stop and count slowly to ten before continuing her journey, to keep herself from succumbing to her instincts. She wanted to turn around and go home. Anxiety had wound its cold fingers around her heart; she didn't know what would happen on the sanctuary between the worlds, but the summons troubled her.
No one knew where she was, Ginny reflected miserably as she wiped strands of hair, damp from the lake's icy spray, out of her eyes. What would they say when they woke up and found her gone? Would they think she'd abandoned them to their enemies? She never would, they had to believe that. What if her friends had planned a birthday celebration?
The goddess had told her to spend Samhain on Avalon, had not offered any reason or explanation...Ginny was always wary when Mórrígan, especially in her maiden face, told her to do anything. But every time she looked at her wrists, at the twin dragon tattoos, the tangible marks of who and what she was that started just below her shirt cuff and disappeared beneath her sleeves, winding around her forearms, Ginny remembered the promises she'd made. She would never turn her back on her vows, not even if the price was her life. The goddess knew that, trusted it, and took advantage of it at every opportunity.
Ginny cleared the mists and looked to the shore, now less than ten meters away. The lake was shallow enough here; she gladly abandoned the rowboat and those blasted oars, and waded the rest of the way to the island. The water, already winter-cold, bit into her legs, burning, then numbing them. Sword in one hand, satchel in the other, she trudged up the beach.
When the High Priestess told her why she'd been sent to the island, Ginny was not a happy Pendragon, but by that time, it was too dark to leave. She'd at least have to spend the night.
Outside the window, an owl hooted. Ginny's eyes snapped open. The chamber was dark, but a block of cold light shone through the window near the ceiling. It fell half on her red coverlet, half on the face of the man sitting beside her bed. His features were silver and black, sliced in two by the nighttime and the moon.
"Jesus!" she gasped. "You scared the hell out of me."
"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. His eyes fixed on her intently, one obsidian in the dark of the chamber, the other brilliant, glittering green.
She took a moment, waiting for her heart to slow down, and get out of her throat, back to her chest where it belonged. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you think?"
"I didn't think anyone knew I'd left. Mórrígan sent me out as soon as I woke up."
His tone was amused. "Do you really believe you could go anywhere without my knowing?"
She flopped onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head so she wouldn't have to look at him. "No." It had always been like this between them, for so long she couldn't remember living any other way. She was a prisoner, and always would be. The silver fetters that linked her mind with his would never fade away, as she had once wished. She had long ceased hoping. She'd learned not to waste energy on futile battles, and to accept what she could not change: that her soul and her body were under his protection. They had been since the sorcerers of old had sacrificed to the gods in every birch grove, and they would be until the end of days, when for the last time the gods broke through the barrier between the worlds.
"So," he said, glancing around the room, "this is Avalon?"
"Mmmm," was her noncommittal reply from beneath the pillow.
"It's nice."
She couldn't help but laugh. "You're the master of understatement, do you know that?"
"I know why the Priestesses wanted you here."
This had been the last thing she'd expected him to say. She shoved the pillow off her face and sat up to look at him.
He continued, "The Mórrígan showed me in a dream."
"Really?" She leaned closer, her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders, her eyes dark, ancient wells of power.
He knew that look. She was planning something. "Gin?"
"I'm glad you're here."
He couldn't hide his surprise. "Oh?"
Ginny nodded eagerly. "As soon as it's light enough to safely row the boat back to the mainland, I'm running for it."
He blinked. "And you want me to help you escape. Is that it?"
She flashed him a hopeful smile. Her teeth were white in the moonlight.
Harry sighed, exasperated. "Oh my god."
"I'm not your god," she snapped.
He folded his arms over his chest and fixed her with a stern glare. He plainly thought she was being unreasonable. "I can't believe I'm listening to this."
"I have no intention of going through with this thing, no matter what Mórrígan and the priestesses say."
"So you're going to run away?"
Ginny scowled. She resented his implication. Only cowards ran when they were afraid.
"You can't just leave. This is important to them," Harry explained patiently.
"They said I have to wear a crown!" she protested in a harsh whisper. "Have you seen that throne? I'm not getting anywhere near it. I won't!"
"Gin, every Pendragon has been crowned king of Avalon on his twenty third birthday. Why should you be any less?"
She gave him an odd look. "And how do you know so much?"
"The Mórrígan explained it when she told me to follow you."
Ginny's laugh was incredulous. "You were following me?"
"You must have been distracted," he teased. "Otherwise, I'm sure you would've noticed."
"How long? All day?"
He nodded, a slight inclination of his head, his disquieting eyes, eyes that had always seen too much, fixed on hers.
"You could've told me," she muttered. "At the very least, you could've helped me with the stupid rowboat. I caught a crab, and it almost knocked me overboard."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "A…crab?"
"It's a boat thing," she explained. "You strike the water at the wrong angle, and the oar flies up and hits you in the…" she trailed off. "Never mind. It's not important."
"No, please go on." He was obviously amused. "I'm very interested in the…crabs…you caught today."
Ginny let out an exasperated breath. "What are you, twelve? It's a legitimate rowing term."
"Okay." He was barely holding in his laughter.
"I'm serious! I learned it from Draco's head."
Now he really did laugh. "In that case, it must be true."
She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat.
His laughter faded, and the air between them filled with uncomfortable silence.
Finally, she asked, "How long have you been sitting here?"
"Since just after you fell asleep."
She glanced around, but didn't see any books or games, or even a newspaper to keep him occupied. "What have you been doing all this time?"
"Watching you." He said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She had been beautiful. Her pajamas, he suspected, belonged to Gwen. They were drawstring trousers and a button-down shirt, made of creamy white satin, a shade darker than her skin. He'd kept guard over her sleeping form, which was curled up beneath the thick coverlet, sinking into the deep feather mattress. Her red hair had spilled across the pillow like a wave of crimson fire, and the moonlight had caressed her skin with its cold, silver touch. There were no threats on the island; tonight, his role was purely ceremonial. Rather than spend the dark hours searching for enemies, he was free to pour his attention onto her in a way he never would have, had she been awake. His eyes drank in the soft curves of her body, her beloved face, that face he knew almost better than he knew his own.
"Watching me? The whole time?"
He nodded.
"I'll bet you were bored."
Harry shrugged. "You'd lose."
Something shifted in the wake of his admission, a subtle change in the air between them. It was charged, tense with sensual awareness.
Ginny's hands picked at the bedspread. "I'm sure if you ask the priestesses for a room, they'll be more than happy to give you one."
"No."
His tone had been implacable. "No?" she echoed faintly. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks and was glad for the dark.
"It's a sacred trust," he said firmly, his features chiseled into sharp relief by the crystal Avalon moon. "Go back to sleep if you want, Ginny, or stay awake; it's your choice. But whatever you decide, I have to stay and keep watch."
"My choice," she repeated, her words barely above a whisper.
His face was sympathetic, but not gentle. "It always has been."
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a wistful half smile. "What about you?"
"You already know the answer to that."
Again, the atmosphere rippled with understanding. They both knew what he was saying.
She told him, "You're always there when I'm afraid."
Harry's voice was so low, she felt his words vibrate in the air. "That's because I'm in love with you."
She searched his eyes, the mesmerizing gaze that never failed to hold her in thrall, and shivered at what she saw there, and what it stirred inside of her. Nothing could stand against her feelings for him. The tide of emotion decimated objections, fears, and all anger and resentment that may have been. Her whisper was hoarse, "Yes."
He hesitated. "Yes to what?"
Ginny cleared her throat. "I don't know. Anything you want."
He didn't blink. "I'll never betray your trust again; I'll swear on anything. I want a second chance, so I can prove it to you."
"It's yours."
There was a long pause before he spoke, and through a nearly superhuman effort, his voice was even, his tone controlled. Emotion thrummed just beneath the surface. "I want your love."
She swallowed hard. "You have it, Harry. You always have."
He said, "I want you."
Ginny took a deep breath and lowered her eyes, the fiery intensity of his gaze making her suddenly, inexplicably shy. "Here I am."
Silence. He didn't move from his chair.
"Is everything all right?" she whispered. When there was no reply, she tentatively lifted her lashes, raising her gaze back to him.
His eyes glistened with an emotion she had almost despaired of seeing again…joy. "I'll make you happy," was his whispered vow. "As happy as you've just made me."
She smiled. "I know."
"I'll give you the world if you want it –" he went on.
"No," she interrupted, reaching out to him, her hand palm up. "I don't want the world; I just want you. What's between us…it can't be bought, only given."
The look of stark adoration on his face stole her breath away, but it was nothing compared to what followed. Harry met and held her gaze as he shifted over to the bed and slowly slid his palm over hers, his warm skin gently caressing her hand without taking it. His fingers crept higher, stopping to brush the vein that beat beneath her sensitive inner wrist, tracing the tattooed skin.
Harry closed his hand loosely around the fine bones in her wrist, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. She raised her other hand, and looped them both behind his neck, tangling her fingers in the soft, shaggy hair that hung down over his collar. His own touch was slowly, ever so slowly, sliding up her spine, exploring the muscles on either side of her ribcage, tracing her scarred back through the slippery satin of her pajamas. She shivered.
His fingers wound through her hair, lifting it away from her face. He dropped his cheek beside hers and gently nuzzled. Ginny inhaled the scent of his soap, like pine trees and winter air. She felt him smile against the side of her face as he trailed his lips, butterfly-light, along her jaw. "You're blushing," he murmured.
"No I'm not," she said. After a beat, she asked, "How can you tell?"
He brushed her other cheek with the backs of his fingers. She leaned into the caress. "Your skin is hot."
Hands still tangled in her hair, Harry gently sucked on her lower lip. He moved to her upper lip, then returned to the bottom, then the top, and back again…a sensual, hypnotic kiss that left her heart pounding. She sighed against his lips, and he finally covered her mouth with his. Her fingers had managed to unbutton his shirt, and her hands spread greedily over his chest, reveling in the feel of him, the soft, warm skin beneath her palms. Harry wound his arms around her waist and fell back onto the bed. Ginny went too, sprawled on top of him.
Cocooned together in the womb of night, they savored each other. Every caress, every kiss, every cry branded them both as lover and loved, left indelible rightness in its wake, the undeniable knowledge that they belonged to each other. That night, together, they finally made peace with destiny.
Yet thou, her child
Whose head is crowned with flames
Still wilt not
hear
Thine inner god proclaim
The Otherworld. Ginny was in the middle of a field. She stood between long rows of unlit pyres, stretching as far as her eye could see. At the head of Ginny's row stood Mórrígan, the maiden, dressed in a clinging black gown. Her hair was a cascade of fire. It flickered and danced, lighting the goddess's face with an eerie red glow, but did not burn her. Hundreds of the goddess's people attended her, also in black. Ginny saw that she, herself, was in black as well, although she hadn't been when she'd arrived on Avalon. It was only then that she remembered that this was Samhain, the night of nights.
"The Pendragon has arrived!" Mórrígan proclaimed.
Every eye on the field turned to Ginny. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, lifted her chin, and strode up the column of pyres until she was before the goddess. They were the same height. "I expected the hag."
Mórrígan's red eyes glittered. "This may be the death of an old year, but it is also birth of a new one. Welcome to the party, Virginia."
Ginny coolly raised an eyebrow. "The party?"
"It is your birthday, is it not?"
Ginny glanced around. Hundreds of Mórrígan's subjects, each one powerful, and each one wild to the core, watched her. In their dark clothes, they would have disappeared into the night, were it not for the full, ripe moon that hung low in the sky and the fire that crowned the goddess's head. "Listen," Ginny said, bringing her eyes back to the goddess. "About this Avalon coronation; I won't do it."
The goddess looked amused. "Yes you will."
Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Mórrígan cut her off. "Maybe not tomorrow," the goddess said, "but someday, I promise. When you're ready."
"Then why did you send me there, if not to do it now?"
Mórrígan cocked one perfect eyebrow. "Are you telling me nothing of import happened to you this night?"
Ginny blinked. "You…you orchestrated that? With Harry? I don't believe this! Is there any aspect of my life that you haven't interfered with yet?
"I orchestrated nothing," Mórrígan said coldly. "I merely arranged for you to meet on my island. Once you were there, you couldn't lie to yourselves anymore. It had to stop, Virginia. Enough was enough."
"Tell me why."
"You shut yourself away years ago. You have finally been released."
"I don't understand."
"The walls to your cage were here, Virginia." Mórrígan laid her cold, white hand on Ginny's chest, over her heart. "And now the cage has been opened. Your enemies may imprison your body, but now that you've unlocked your heart, you will always be free."
"And then you pulled me here, away from him," Ginny complained.
The goddess smirked. "You were there for the best parts. I saved you from a lot of dull cuddling."
"I like cuddling," Ginny said through clenched teeth.
"Then he'll be there when you get back." The goddess's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Come, Virginia. Tonight is Samhain. Light the fires."
Ginny turned around and saw again the pyres, stretching across the field into the distance. "There are too many."
"On Samhain, there's no such thing as too many," Mórrígan said in her ear.
Ginny took a deep breath, and felt her silver power boil up within of her. The power coated her nerves and consumed her veins as her skin began to glow. She stretched out her arms, lifted her face to the sky, and released the divine magic. Every pyre on the field exploded in flame. Mórrígan threw back her head and let out a feral cry. It was quickly taken up by her people, and, seized by some instinct older than time, Ginny joined in, raising her wild yells to the cold autumn moon. The Otherworldly people fell into their wild revelry, dancing and drinking and shouting to the sky, marking the death of the old year and the birth of the new. Ginny longed to join them.
The goddess's flaming hair swirled around her body as she took Ginny's hand. "You are goddess born, Virginia. On this night of nights, your divine nature rules your mortal half," Mórrígan shouted above the crowd. "Tonight, we are sisters, you and I." With the thumb of her other hand, the goddess traced a rune on Ginny's forehead. "And tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows to come, you are finally the owner of your soul."
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Thank you, everyone, for such a wonderful year!